


Like a Red Cloth Ceremony

by foxwedding



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bill showing off/courting Dipper, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Gen, Get ready for too much sexual tension for a children's show, Human Bill Cipher, M/M, Multi, Scheming Bill, Sex Magic, Swearing, Virgin Dipper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3520127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxwedding/pseuds/foxwedding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's their seventh summer in Gravity Falls, and Bill is up to something entirely new.  Dipper's confused and Bill is going to use that to it's furthest extent- if he can persuade him correctly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The summer after their seventeenth birthday, Dipper and Mabel returned, as per their annual tradition, to the Mystery Shack in Gravity Falls. It was their seventh successive year and the duo had grown significantly since that first, eventful summer when they were twelve. 

Mabel had grown into a fortuitous set of buxom curves. She wasn’t exceedingly slender, but she was healthy, with flushed cheeks and thick, glossy hair. Never having entirely grown out of wearing sweaters, she had kept most of her favorites over the years. They now fit much more snugly across her bosom, and she had long since swapped out her knee highs and skirt for high-waisted jeans. She constantly wore chunky, geometric earrings and necklaces, homemade scarves, and an eternal, braces-less smile. 

Since the end of junior high, Mabel had maintained a steady stream of two-week boyfriends, which amounted to an enormous quantity of exes that Dipper never seemed to be able to get away from. Miraculously, she had managed to stay friendly with most of them. Mabel had blossomed into a considerably talented artist as well, face constantly shoved into a sketch book as she simultaneously drew and chatted away. 

Dipper, for the most part, hadn’t changed much either. He’d sprouted up into a tall, slender young man. Jeans, ratty sneakers, and his iconic bubble vest had all stayed the same. He wore graphic t-shirts of independent bands about which he was ready to discuss, at length and in enormous detail, the second anyone made the mistake of asking. He’d outgrown his hat, but Mabel had preserved the pine tree patch and re-sewn it onto his vest. 

Unlike Mabel, Dipper had not managed the same dating proclivities, despite having what many of his peers described as an attractive face and introverted demeanor. But this was more likely due to his mounting confusion about where his attractions lay. At seventeen, he felt he should know where his sexuality stood, but chalked it up to lack of experience with any gender. Still, he shied away from interested female parties and gravitated towards spending platonic time with male friends. If Mabel noticed his growing distress concerning his sexual orientation, she didn’t mention it.

As always, the two shared the attic in the summer. Mabel was absent the majority of the time, preferring movies and art performances with Candy and Grenda. Dipper split his time between failed DIY adventures with Soos and sitting in on jam sessions with Robbie’s band. Wendy had left for university- Dipper hadn’t seen her in two summers. Mostly though, Dipper wandered around the surrounding forest on his own, book in hand, backpack full of water, granola, various stones and talismans. That, and he waited for the inevitable need to put a pin in the schemes and dealings of one Bill Cipher. 

Every summer, without fail, at least one oblivious citizen of Gravity Falls was ignorant enough to make a deal with Bill Cipher. These ill-advised transactions ranged from the well-intentioned- ‘please heal my aging grandmother’s brittle hip in exchange for my human face’- to the downright moronic- ‘please secure me a date with a Northwest in exchange for my mortal happiness’ (this one was self-fulfilling). Dipper tended to hear about them through the grapevine, and once the situation had become sufficiently dire, he was asked to step in. 

The first few encounters with Bill left Dipper disoriented with rage and terror. However, as they continued, time tempered his fears into a more blasé attitude towards the demon. It usually happened as follows: About two weeks after Dipper’s arrival in town, rumors about strange happenings with so-and-so would begin to percolate. Dipper would deliberately ignore them. Subsequently, Bill would up-the-ante: nightmare-inducing hallucinogenics in the water, man-eating trees, turning the lake into blood (evidently, he took much inspiration from the old testament), and that sort. If this still didn’t get Dipper’s attention, the demon would fall back to a last resort of plaguing Mabel with some minor case of boils or other. In recent years, Dipper had learned to intercede before Mabel got involved. 

Finally, when enough was enough, Dipper would pack his books, anointed water, vials and herbs into a knapsack, and head into town. Bill had a flair for the dramatic, typically showcasing his array of awful talents in the town-square while holding some quantity of citizens captive. Dipper would arrive, he and Bill would banter heatedly, Dipper would lay down his sigils, his blood and herbs, his crystals and holy water, while Bill watched on amusedly. Bill would pester and correct Dipper at every step of proceedings- ‘you laid the nightshade down counterclockwise, you moronic sapling’ or ‘Come on, Pine Tree, we both know the blood has to be tossed north first. Get it together kid.’

Dipper would huff and growl and scream in frustration, which only served to further encourage the demon. Eventually, it would devolve into Dipper reciting slightly incorrect Latin at the triangle until he decided to depart, although lately, the boy had actually succeeded in forcibly exorcising the demon. It was no small feat, and Bill would proudly commend Dipper on his performance, which annoyed him to no end.

And then, like clockwork, two weeks later the process would begin to repeat itself. Which is how, presently, Dipper found himself in front of the townhall steps, tattered scrap of Latin runes in one hand, glowing violet expelling crystal in the other, screaming nonsensically over Bill’s maniacal laughter.

“Well, if it isn’t the littlest pine. Welcome back, sapling.” The demon practically vibrated with unrepentant glee.

“Cut the shit, Cipher. You knew I’d show up eventually. What do you want?”

Bill gestured to a man curled up in fetal beneath his absurdly shaped body.

“This meat bag owes me his first born! We struck a deal three summers ago, and now it’s time for new daddy to pay up!” Bill’s voice dropped several octaves as he spoke, and his enormous eye flashed crimson. The man whimpered and curled his body tighter around the bundle in his arms. Dipper squinted to get a closer look, realizing with muted horror that the man was clutching a swaddled baby. He sighed and wished, for the dozenth time this summer, that he had stayed home.

“The fuck do you want with a kid?” Dipper asked, trying to mask his annoyance just enough to not escalate the situation.

“Babies are the most tender and tasty of all meat bags!” Bill chuckled and the father and infant wailed in unified misery.

“You don’t even eat, dumbass.”

“You caught me. I dunno. I’ll train him up, have him work around my dreamscape.” Bill replied carelessly.

“Yeah, it must be really rough, already having whatever you want, whenever you want. I can see how you might need help with that. That baby won’t be of functional use to you for another three or four years, you know that right?”

The demon’s eye widened in surprise and he drifted closer to inspect the tiny human, who released an ear-splitting screech in response to Bill’s proximity. 

“What? Meat bags really take that long to sprout?” Bill’s limited facial expressions conveyed upmost disgust. 

Dipper used the brief distraction as an opportunity to prick the tip of one ring finger with a sterilized needle and flick his blood onto the demon’s triangular body. Apathetically, he recited the particular Latin exorcising spell he knew would sever the agreement between the Bill and the distraught father. On cue, a thin string of golden symbols flickered to life, an intricate knot binding the two entities together. Dipper watched as the knot shattered like glass, the residual strings of the bond disintegrating into the ether. 

The two of them watched the man scramble to his feet, infant cradled in one arm, and dash away in spluttering fear. Bill sighed in utter boredom.

“This is getting too easy for you, kid.”

“Maybe if you didn’t fuck things up so often, I wouldn’t be this much in practice. Ever consider taking a break?” Dipper asked with sly hopefulness. 

“And rob myself of the intense pleasure of making you scream? I don’t think so, Pine Tree. Don’t you worry, kiddo. I’ve got something in the making- you and I are going to have so much fun.” 

“What? No-” Dipper seized in fear, but Bill was already beginning to fade into the dreamscape.

“Until next time, sapling.” Bill’s forceful laughter echoed off the buildings and faded into the night as the light of his residual magic disappeared. 

In the darkness of a moonless night, Dipper dusted himself off and packed his things away. Once again, everything was quiet and still, disturbed only by the quiet click and soft illumination of Dipper’s flashlight turning on. He sighed and began his two mile trek back to the Mystery Shack.


	2. Chapter 2

The next couple of days following Bill’s latest spectacle were slow and uneventful. One side effect of being in the demon’s proximity was a hazy memory of the encounter, or lost time altogether. None of the townspeople seemed to recognize Dipper as having achieved something incredible for the dozenth time in half as many years. Dipper himself, having run into Bill more times than he cared to count, no longer experienced this particular effect. 

Lazy Susan’s diner was fairly busy by mid-morning, when Dipper, Mabel, Soos, and Stan arrived for breakfast. Stan usually wasn’t one to take everyone out to a meal, but the twins had been in town for nearly three weeks now, and he still had yet to shell out some sort of effort in the name of family bonding. Sliding into a booth by the window, Dipper saw the young father and his infant son, accompanied by what he assumed was the man’s wife, across the diner. The three looked pleasant enough, no sign of recent traumatic encounters whatsoever. 

Mabel immediately caught sight of the baby and starting cooing loudly at it. The infant gurgled and clapped it’s filthy hands together, propelling mashed baby food onto his own smiling face. Mabel laughed delightedly. 

“Hey little guy! Dipper! Dipper, look at the little guy.” Mabel kept nudging him even after he acquiesced and looked over. He made brief eye contact with the father, who smiled back at the twins without an ounce of recognition. Dipper sighed and waved half-heartedly at the family. 

They were interrupted by the waiter, who turned out to be one of Robbie’s band mates- Evan? Kevin? The man immediately smiled at Dipper, and reached down to ruffle his hair as if he was still twelve years old. 

“Hey Dip, how’s it hanging, man?” Dipper made some sort of neutral response as he studied the way that the waiter’s v-neck revealed clavicles and just the top bit of his chest hair. Just as quickly as he realized what he was doing, he averted his gaze down to the table top.

“All good man, you?”

Stan interrupted the two of them, his gruff baritone listing off the specials that they would all share. Mabel immediately protested, insisting they needed to start eating healthier, individual portions. Dipper intended to input his two cents, but was distracted by their waiter’s toned hands and forearm as he scribbled down the order. Dipper swallowed down shame about the fact that he couldn’t control his attention. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of himself, per say, it was more that he desperately didn’t want to be different. 

When he glanced up, he met Soos’s concerned expression.

“You okay, little man?”

“What?” Dipper forced a neutral tone. “I’m totally good, Soos.” Soos’s half-smile informed Dipper that the man didn’t believe him in the slightest. To his right, Mabel and Stan sounded as though they had come to an agreement. Under the table, Dipper pinched at his inner wrist to keep himself from looking at their waiter as he walked away.

Later in the afternoon found the twins holding sparklers off the side of the roof as they sipped at pilfered cans of beer. Mabel grimaced every time she took a swig.

“Tastes like pee, I don’t understand the appeal.” She announced while waving her sparkler in a figure eight. 

Dipper shrugged and gulped down more in the hope that its appeal would become apparent if he just kept drinking it. Mabel started chattering on about potential summer flings. Dipper tuned in and out, catching bits and pieces.

“...and the new lifeguard, I mean, have you seen him? I know I’m not supposed to be attracted to bro-types, but his arms! I wanna drown in that pool just so I can wake up to him putting the kiss of life back in me.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works, Mabel...” Dipper trailed off and let the comment hang. Then, “Why do you say you shouldn’t be attracted to him?”

Mabel shrugged as her sparkler guttered and died. She let it fall from her fingers to the ground below. “I dunno. People usually have types, you know? Kind of like, I have a certain type of personality, and should therefore want a guy with a complementary personality. That’s what mom says, anyways.”

Dipper felt light-headed with a sudden rush of courage. 

“But what if what she thinks your type should be is different from what your type actually is? Like, what if your type is different than everyone expects?” Dipper blurted then felt himself flush with embarrassment and nerves. Why had he even said that?

“I think that someone’s type should be whoever makes him or her happiest.” Mabel’s tone was light, but she was speaking in a staggered manner and Dipper could tell she was choosing her words carefully. Out of the corner of his sight, he could see her studying him intently.

Dipper was suddenly overcome with a powerful sense of agitation. He stood abruptly and nudged an empty can off the roof with his foot.

“Dipper-” Mabel began quietly, but was interrupted.

“I’m gonna go take a walk.” Dipper rushed back into the shack. 

Dipper walked along a familiar beaten trail until the golden rays of the sunset glared directly into his eyes. He slumped down onto a mossy rock and used a nearby twig to carve meaningless drawings into the dirt. Eventually he just let the stick clatter to the ground, hanging his head between his knees defeatedly. It wasn’t fair. Growing up was hard enough already. Why couldn’t he just be like everyone else?

“Little sapling is going to be eaten up by wild animals if he doesn’t get back before dark.” Bill’s voice emerged from nowhere. Dipper yelped and fell off of his rock. The demon laughed at his clumsiness. 

From the golden light filtered in streaks through the trees, materialized an equally golden triangle, hovering several feet above him. Dipper didn’t even bother sitting up from his position face up on the ground.

“I hate you so much. What do you want?” He muttered apathetically. 

Bill’s delayed response immediately garnered Dipper’s attention. 

“Suppose,” the demon began slowly, “that you had something I wanted. In return, I would have to give you something that you desired equally as strongly.”

“Can you even conceptualize the meaning of an equal exchange?” Dipper inquired scathingly and sat up. Bill ignored him.

“I do believe that I have situation from which we can both mutually benefit.” The demon announced.

“I’m not making a deal with you, Cipher. Do you think I’m a total idiot? Besides, you have nothing that I want.” Dipper rolled his eyes at the notion of Bill trying to talk him into a deal after all their previous encounters. 

“I believe that all human meat bags are idiots, but that’s neither here nor there right now. And I’m not trying to make a deal with you. I just think we could both help each other out.”

“You want me to ‘help you out’” Dipper quoted back the demon’s words in deadpan. “I still don’t see how I’m benefitting.” He stood up with the intention of putting more space between him and the triangle.

“You’ll grow to see. How about this. You come take a look at the situation with me. Then you can decide whether you want to help me out.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you give me a choice like that?” Dipper could feel his curiosity slowly undermining his rational resolve to stay the fuck away from Bill Cipher. 

“I guess I’m just a nice guy, sapling.” The condescending nickname snapped Dipper back to rationality.

“You’re a fucking triangle, Bill!” He screeched, confounded and having run out of sensible things to say. “And you’re a demon! I’m not working for you- with you! Whatever!”

The demon seemed to consider this momentarily. 

“I can see that my form is a serious hindrance to your trust, Pine Tree. Maybe I should take the form of something more appealing and familiar in order to persuade you.”

“Wha-” Dipper began, but the air around Bill had already begun to shimmer and spark.

Bill’s golden triangular body rotated counterclockwise one-hundred-eighty degrees so that that his apex pointed to the ground. His flimsy arms, now beneath his legs, elongated and thickened, his elbow joints reformed into knees- cracking and shifting so that they hinged in the opposite way. His legs, perched atop the base, slid to either point and elongated in a similar fashion to become arms. His upside-down triangular form became a human torso with a slender waist and impossibly broad shoulders with long, wiry, well formed limbs. Bill’s singular all-seeing eye, now implanted at the center of a human torso, flattened and dulled into a faded tattoo. 

Dipper watched in unmasked horror as the stump of neck and head burgeoned from the top of this newly formed torso. From tanned, golden flesh emerged two eyes and a nose. One particular divot became the cavern of mouth, and two others were sculpted into ears by unseen forces. Blond hair sprouted from the top of the cranium.

Dipper swallowed dryly and stared incredulously at Bill’s finished creation. The dream demon now stood at equal height to him, stark naked, with predatory eyes and an intensely keen smile. Dipper inhaled shortly at Bill’s closeness and inched backwards, averting his gaze. Bill had created a rather attractive form for himself. 

“Alright, Pine Tree,” Bill crooned and placed a hand on either hip, “I present to you a meager human form. I’m a meat sack now.” He seemed inordinately pleased with himself and stepped closer, yet again, so that Dipper could take in the detailing. 

Even Bill’s abrasive, nasally tone couldn’t rouse Dipper, who was concentrating fiercely on a patch of fungus near one of his dilapidated sneakers. He could feel Bill’s warmth as the demon pressed closer, and tried to divert his attention from what he could only assume was the gentle pressure of Bill’s male endowments against the side of his clothed thigh. 

“Pine Tree!” Bill shouted in one ear, unhappy that Dipper was inattentive to his considerable talents.

Dipper jumped back and covered his eyes. “Put some fucking clothes on, you dumbass!” Then, after several moments, “What the fuck, Cipher, you can take a human form?”

The demon looked down at his naked body, as if it now just noticing its undressed state. He snickered and snapped his fingers. Tight black pants and a dress shirt materialized upon it. Out of thin air, Bill appeared to pluck a black bowtie, loafers, and a black vest embroidered with thin, geometric shapes of gold thread. He hummed a nameless tune as he maneuvered into his new apparel. Dipper scoffed at the absurd sight of watching Bill Cipher leaning down to tie his dress shoes.

Feeling unusually agitated, Dipper plunged his hands into the pockets of his bubble vest.

“Yeah, great ensemble for trekking around the goddamn forest. I hope you slip in your pretentious shoes and kill your new form.” Dipper wished that comment had come out considerably less horsely, and way more heatedly. He sighed and turned his back on the demon, decidedly heading back towards the shack. He felt, rather than heard, Bill catch up to him.

“You say the sweetest things, Pine Tree.” For a magical entity newly inhabiting a corporeal form, Bill seemed to be getting around quite fluidly. Dipper huffed in annoyance and tried to outpace him. It didn’t work. Night was descending quickly, and Dipper doubled his efforts to get back to the shack. Bill strode alongside effortlessly, whistling foreign tunes into the downstream wind. 

Once they reached the clearing that held home, Bill halted and caught Dipper’s elbow. His heat seared through the thin cotton of Dipper’s shirt. 

“Think about what I said.” The demon stated with a smug smile and a wink. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he vanished into the night, leaving Dipper with a racing pulse and head full of contradicting thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review- it motivates me to write faster!


	3. Chapter 3

The following night, Dipper was roused from sleep by a well-dressed and smiling figure. He was prevented from gasping out in surprise by a large hand clamped firmly over his lips. Dipper struggled weakly as his vision adjusted in the dark room. Once the realization struck that the shadowed figure was, in fact, Bill Cipher, Dipper groaned in exasperation and relaxed back onto his bed.

“What ever it is, no.” He whispered out and turned onto his side and tried to resume sleeping.

“Pine Tree, there’s something I want to show you.” Bill hissed back gleefully. “In the forest- creatures that are no where in your journal.”

Dipper opened his eyes, instantly alert. Bill’s own eyes, side-lit by the waxing moon, glinted with the promise of something wild. Dipper held his gaze suspiciously. A loud snort and the sounds of bedsprings creaking interrupted them as Mabel stirred lightly in her sleep and adjusted herself to fit more snugly against Waddles. 

Dipper closed his eyes and counted to ten in his mind. This was such a bad idea. Going out into the forest alone with a dream demon? Bill could kill him with the snap of his fingers, Dipper knew this with absolute certainty. But... what if he wasn’t lying? Creatures not recorded in any of the journals? Dipper’s gut itched with burgeoning excitement. When he open his eyes again, Bill was glancing around the room disinterestedly. Soft light caught the contours of his well-formed torso. Dipper swallowed- how much harm could Bill do to him in a human form, anyway?

Dipper kicked the covers off of him and sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Reaching for a pair of sweatpants at the foot of his bed, Dipper grumbled, “I already regret this decision.”

He pulled the pants over his boxers and plucked a random shirt from the floor. After sniffing it gently, he pulled it over his bare chest, followed by an equally random hoodie. 

“Make no mistake, sapling. You disgust me.” Bill huffed out. 

Dipper didn’t even bother replying as he stepped into his ratty sneakers and tugged his knapsack over one shoulder.

“Come here- if you hold onto me, I can teleport us.” Bill ordered, impatiently.

“Absolutely not. Don’t touch me. It’s walking or nothing.” Dipper stood his ground. Bill looked about ready to combust. Finally, the demon deflated and sweetly acquiesced. They crept downstairs and made it about ten steps from the Mystery Shack before Bill looped an arm around Dipper’s waist from behind and teleported them without a word. 

Teleportation, Dipper found, was vastly unpleasant. Traveling space and time compressed his lungs, made his head pound, and gave all his limbs pins-and-needles.

When they popped out of their wormhole, Dipper gasped and fell to his knees. Beside him, Bill looked no worse for wear. 

“What the fuck, Cipher! I said ‘no touching’.” Dipper rasped out. The demon rolled his eyes and sized up their surroundings. They were deep into the forest- deeper than Dipper had ever explored. Columns of trees reached up towards the stars, so high that Dipper could hardly see where they ended. It smelled of wet underbrush and rot and sounded of crickets. A translucent fog hovered above the ground. He shivered and shoved his hands under his armpits. 

Bill surveyed the trees with slow, deliberate inhales. He appeared to be sniffing out their next direction. After a half-minute, he narrowed his eyes towards the west.

“Let’s go,” was all the demon murmured. Dipper struggled to his feet, trying not to slip on the beds of damp leaves and silt. They crept along in the night for at least an hour. Every so often, Bill, who seemed to able to move with making a single sound nor footprint, would turn around and fiercely order Dipper to walk more stealthily. 

Eventually, they arrived at the edge of a clearing. Bill levitated his body to a high branch in a nearby tree, and gestured for Dipper to do the same. The brunet huffed and grabbed at the rough bark of a lower branch. Perched side-by-side on the sturdy branch, Dipper could see directly into the clearing and miles out to all sides. The dim gleam of Gravity Falls glowed in the far distance. Dipper wondered exactly how far Bill had taken them out of town. 

All at once, he felt Bill go abruptly still beside him. In the clearing below, several hooded figures were amassing in the center, emerging slowly from the trees. They hobbled slowly, with stiff, noticeable gaits. From his position, Dipper couldn’t hear them, nor could he see any part of their bodies and faces. 

Hidden within the trees, Dipper and Bill watched as the creatures slowly, tediously painted out an enormous sigil onto the wet dirt. Candles were placed in the four corners, and herbs were scattered around the circle. They gathered at the edges of the sigil, spacing themselves evenly. Dipper heard the high keening of an animal, and glanced around trying to place its origin. One of the hooded figures was dragging a leashed creature. The poor creature was frantic, gasping as it tugged at its collar trying to escape. Dipper squinted, trying to get a better look.

The animal was unlike any he’d seen before. Its limbs were arranged in a humanoid fashion, walking upright on two legs. It had long, thin clawed fingers, a skeletal face, and what appeared to be buffalo horns. It gasped and clawed and wailed in its desperate efforts to get away from the sigil. One of the figures grabbed the animal by it’s neck and shoved it inside the circle just as the collar was removed.

The creature circled the inside of sigil, trying to find a flaw that would allow it’s escape. Finally, when it seemed to realize its own fate, collapsed to it knees in the center and emitted what, to Dipper, sounds like the cries of a scared child. 

From up in the treetops, Dipper could hear the low rumble of the hooded figures chanting in unison. The animal hid it’s face in it’s knees and its anguished cries because increasingly louder. Dipper felt sick as he watched one figure step into the sigil, dagger in hand, and force the the animal’s head back, exposing its neck. With its face upturned, Dipper could see wetness in its impossibly dark eyes and gleaming tear tracks down its face. 

He was unable to look away as the figure drew the blade across the animal’s neck, which began to choke and gurgle on it’s own blood. As the blood hit the lines of the sigil, they began to glow like embers until the entire symbol was alit like a neon sign. The animal took a final shuttering, wet gasp, and collapsed limply, eyes wide but dull with death. Splayed out like an offering, the figure with the blade doused the carcass with ceremonial oil. It took the candle from the south station and lit fire to the body.

Dipper nearly gagged at the smell of cooking flesh that wafted up to him. Dark smoke made his eyes tear and sting. He felt Bill grasp his elbow firmly, and he nodded blindly in the demon’s direction for him to take them home. 

They reappeared on the roof of the Mystery Shack. Just like last time, the effects of the travel brought Dipper to his knees. He was shaking and coughing, eyes stinging as they tried to flush out the charred particles of that animal. 

“What was that?” Dipper gasped out. “Those things, what were they?” He wiped the tears from his cheeks, only to have them freshly replaced. 

“Creatures older than Gravity Falls itself. They steal the earth magic from living forms.” Bill’s tone was uncharacteristically grave and Dipper studied the demon’s closed off expression closely. “They’ll be coming after me eventually, once they run through all of the other creatures here.”

Dipper seized in fear. He couldn’t even fathom witnessing another atrocious scene like that again. 

“Then why don’t you leave? Get away from them?” He asked, voice shaking with the effort of repressing rising hysteria. Bill held Dipper’s gaze for a moment, and then his face relaxed into something Dipper had never seen before, something unguarded and sad.

“I’m bound to Gravity Falls. I can’t ever leave.”

Dipper’s eyes widened in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted.

“But those creatures, we can stop them. You can choose to stop them, Pine Tree. Otherwise, they’ll come after everyone- including your Shooting Star.”

Dipper swallowed down a rush of anxiety at the thought.

“Is this what you wanted me to help you with? Why me? Why don’t you do it yourself?”

Bill shrugged and spoke carefully. “The spell we need can only be achieved by a person with certain... traits. You have them. You also know blood magic- powerful blood magic at that. You can exorcise me, and that’s no small feat.”

Dipper nodded and seemed to consider this. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bill staring intensely at Dipper, presumably awaiting a response. Dipper wiped at tear trails that had already dried up. 

“Ok,” he croaked out with a sniffle. “Ok. I’ll help.” Bill seemed to exhale a sigh of relief.

“Come on, sapling. Let’s get you back to bed.” The demon held out his hand to hoist Dipper from his knees. Dipper took it and let Bill guide him back inside. The brunet climbed weakly into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. He glanced briefly at Bill, a question niggling at the back of his mind, but the dream demon snapped his fingers once and Dipper fell into dreams. 

~+~

Through out the next couple days, Dipper began fevered and thorough research into his new quest. He knew it was pointless (not to mention extremely ill-advised) to summon Bill for answers, so he continued rifling through various sources until the demon decided to pop by.

Bill stopped by one particular afternoon when Mabel was out with Pacifica. Dipper immediately bombarded the demon with question after fruitless question. Bill ignored him in favor of inspecting the bedroom. Eventually, Dipper gave up trying to garner a response and turned back to one of his numerous journals. The demon strolled leisurely around the room as if he owned it- picking up things here and there, setting them down in different places, inspecting and knocking on the walls and windows. This went on for at least an hour until Bill decided to break the comfortable silence. 

“Have you ever been taken, Pine Tree?”

Dipper looked up from the journal blearily and squinting in confusion at the blond demon. In the afternoon light, Bill looked impossibly golden and warm.

“Taken where?” He asked horsely, not having used his voice for the past hour. Bill was studying him with a palpable intensity and Dipper felt himself flush under the attention. 

“That’s not what I meant.” He started towards the bed. Dipper sat up straighter and shut the journal.

“Well that’s unhelpful,” Dipper replied, trying to encourage the demon to elaborate. 

Bill walked up between Dipper’s knees where his legs dangled off of the mattress. He pulled the heavy tome from Dipper’s grasp and placed one hand squarely onto his sternum. Dipper’s eyes widened as he let Bill push his upper torso down until he was pressed against comforter. The demon hovered above him, still standing between his parted knees. Dipper was worried Bill might be able to feel his heart race through his chest where Bill pressed down on him. He was also slightly concerned that Bill might take the opportunity to strangle him.

“Taken. Like this. Having someone inside of you.” Bill softly annunciated each word. 

Dipper could feel his entire face and upper chest flush.

“Oh. Um. No.” He averted his gaze from Bill’s and stared resolutely at the far wall, willing his body not to have a reaction to this proximity. 

“Why not?” 

Dipper glanced back to him. Bill’s brows were furrowed in an expression of genuine curiosity.

“I don’t know.” Dipper whispered by default. He could even think straight like this, and he couldn’t have made his voice come out stronger even if he had tried. Bill seemed to consider this response at length. 

In an effort to distract his own body from becoming more interested, Dipper turned the question around on Bill.

“Have _you_ ever been taken?” The words felt ridiculous and awkward coming out of Dipper’s mouth, but he welcomed the immediate de-arousing effect of embarrassment. 

Bill looked down at him once again. 

“Yes,” he replied distractedly. Evidently he was still contemplating. “And I’ve taken many others.”

Dipper swallowed dryly. 

“In this form?” He croaked out.

“Similar ones.” Bill shrugged. “I’ve been around since man invented dreams and demons. I’m timeless, kid. You don’t exist that long and not try a few things along the way.” Then, seemingly coming back to himself, a wide maniacal grin split his face.

“Untouched sapling.” He hissed out with a chuckle. 

Dipper groaned in irritation and pushed Bill off him and back to a standing pose. He placed one foot onto Bill’s chest- where he hoped was the dilated pupil of the eye tattoo- and kept Bill at bay this way. With one arm, he reached out blindly for the journal, squirming around on the comforter until his fingertips brushed it. He pulled it to himself and flicked through the open pages.

“I think I may have found some related information.”

Bill grinned broadly, dimples at each corner of his lips, teeth gleaming, eyebrows raised.

“Oh?”

He and Dipper settled onto his bed side-by-side, books and papers spread across their laps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too long of a scene for one chapter, so I split it and will continue the rest of scene in the next chapter. Please comment constructively!


	4. Chapter 4

The golden afternoon light streaming in through the attic window caught suspended particles of dust, making the air scintillate in its wake.

Dipper and Bill, side-by-side on the brunet’s bad, were pouring over piles of tattered, aged papers and leather-bound books. Or rather, Dipper was methodically skimming through them while Bill conjured flames from his fingertips in utter boredom.

“Alright fuckface,” Dipper announced, “I’ve found a few runic ceremonies that might be related to stealing life energy. If we can’t figure out what these things are, at least we can understand which spells they’re using and how we can reverse them.”

Bill hmmm’ed in a non-committed manner and glanced down at the papers scattered across Dipper’s lap. The brunet leafed through the massive stack near his thigh, before selecting a few and holding them up for Bill’s viewing. The papers were stained and faded, brittle with age. Bill traced his fingers lightly over the mess of scribbled sigils. 

“This one.” Bill tapped one symbol in particular. 

Dipper leaned closer to Bill to inspect it. It was thoroughly unfamiliar to him. 

“Are you sure?” Dipper asked with palpable disbelief. “I mean, there are literally hundreds of sigils and ceremonies in here- how can you know just like that-”

“Seen it before- a long time ago. Pine Tree, I’m absolutely certain this is the one.”

“...Alright, whatever you say.” Dipper conceded and shifted the rest of the papers and books into a pile and slid it under the bed. The brunet set the page onto his lap and tried to smooth the crinkles out of it. 

“Well, the instructions are in latin- it’s going to take me some time to translate them.” Dipper sighed. 

“Don’t bother- here,” Bill interjected. “See this symbol here?” the demon asked, pointing to a particular set of lines within the sigil. “It’s the reverse of the dominant symbol in that ceremony the other night. That one was for taking earth energy- this one is for creating and releasing it.”

Dipper watched Bill’s long fingers trace the intersecting lines. He had very nice hands- tanned, well-toned, short nails. Dipper could feel heat seeping from wear the demon’s shoulder was pressed against his own.

“...Earth energy?” Dipper murmured.

“Life force, life energy- meat bags of the religious persuasion fancy it for a soul. It’s all just earth magic and energy cycles.”

“Oh.” Dipper replied absently. Under Dipper’s keen watch, those sly fingers were inching closer to the edge of the sheet. “So what do we do with it?”

“It powerful blood magic- similar to how you exorcise me.” Bill’s fingers toyed with one corner of the page resting on Dipper’s thigh, bending it back and forth between his thumb and index. Dipper deliberately averted his gaze to the window. 

“Oh-h kay.” Dipper faltered as Bill’s hand unfurled from the sheet and pressed flatly and warmly against Dipper’s clothed thigh. “So that’s all we have to do?” Bill’s hand slid inwards on Dipper’s thigh, his thumb rubbing back and forth. 

“Not exactly- there are some... notable additions,” the demon purred back. Bill tugged outwards on the brunet’s thigh, forcing Dipper to bend out his knee slightly. The brunet swallowed and rubbed one sweating palm on the comforter.

“Like what?” Dipper croaked out.

“In order to reverse a spell that takes life energy, you have to give some life energy back to the sigil.”

“Life-wha-,” Dipper seized up. “I’m not killing something!” Bill tightened his fingers around the brunet’s thigh to keep him in place.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, sapling.” Bill crooned. The demon’s fingers inched upwards until they were barely grazing the copper button of Dipper’s threadbare jeans. “Look at me, Pine Tree.”

Dipper forced his head away and squeezed his eyelids shut. He could feel Bill shift closer until the demon’s warm breeze was gusting on his neck. 

“Pine Tree. Look at me.” Bill repeated, murmuring right into Dipper’s ear. The brunet exhaled, audibly shakily, and twisted very carefully to look at the demon. Bill’s golden eyes were glinting and wild. Dipper couldn’t seem to exhale.

“It requires a talisman of life energy,” Bill whispered and flattened one hand against Dipper’s crotch. “What better than the seed of life itself?” With his hand, he pressed down with deliberate gentleness.

Dipper’s eyes widened impossibly as he tried to inhale into his already full lungs. Bill snickered.

“Breathe, sapling.” 

Dipper flushed as his eyes fluttered shut and he released a mewl like a gasping kitten. He could feel his pants tightening and his toes curling. He fisted his hands in the comforter and tried to control his exhales. A gentle hand turned his face and Dipper could feel a nose bump against his own, soft breaths against his lips. An inexplicable bubble of panic flared up within Dipper. He turned his face away hastily.

“No,” he gasped out, then steadied himself. “No, I’m not- not like that.” With tremendous effort, he maneuvered his body away from the demon’s, repositioning himself on the other side of the bed. He chanced a glance at Bill. The blond demon, instead of sporting the angry expression that Dipper expected, was looking rather amused.

Bill looked at Dipper meaningfully, then shrugged.

“Pity,” he replied loftily, “We’ll have to find another way.” 

Dipper swallowed down a bitter and unexpected sense of disappointment. Beyond the window, dusk was settling across the trees. Dipper felt Bill rise from the bed.

“No long faces, Pine Tree,” Bill chirped. “We have plenty of time to feel this out.” Standing in front of the brunet, he ran one nail along the ridge of Dipper’s jaw. Then, he stepped back with a haughty smile, snapped his fingers, and was gone. 

Dipper collapsed sideways onto his bed and held his hands over his eyes for a long while. He was so confused. Bill wanted to do- _those things_ \- with him? Could Bill even have sex? For that matter, did Dipper want to have sex with Bill? How far was Bill talking? Like mutual handjobs or like full on intercourse?

The brunet dragged his hands down his face as if trying to wipe away the distress. His gut churned with an uneasy mix of anxious confusion and unwelcome arousal. Dipper groaned, but knew what he needed to do- which was, incidentally, what he did best. Research.

~+~

The next evening after dinner, Dipper strode to the shower with deliberate purpose. Under the relaxing stream of warm water, he let his mind wander to those thoughts and scenarios he usually tried to keep tightly under lock and key. His first instinct was, of course, to think of Bill, but he forcefully pushed the demon from his mindscape. What about that waiter- Evan? Kevin? Yeah, that would work.

He thought about strong arms pressing him up against the tiled wall of the shower, the pressure of a erect penis against his thigh, bumping and nudging his own. Though there was no one else in the bathroom, Dipper was still a little self-conscious of how quickly those thoughts were affective on his body.

He gave himself a few quick strokes, then, steadying himself, coated one finger with Mabel’s expensive conditioner, and reached back between his buttocks. The flesh in between was puckered and curiously sensitive. Dipper muffled a gasp as he pressed against that muscle with his fingertip. He willed his body to relax as he wiggled a finger in. It was tight- really tight- and hot, and kind of burned with the stretch of intrusion. What the heck? This was supposed to feel good. He stroked himself a few more times, letting his body adjust, before plunging in deeper. Suddenly, Dipper’s finger pressed up against a spot that was a bit more sensitive. Applying pressure there made him feel sort of ...ticklish inside.

Dipper bit his lip, one finger inside himself, the other hand stroking, as he imagined the sensation of being pressed down upon and into, over and over. With just a few strokes, he was coming with an intensity that bordered on painful.

Panting, he let the shower wash away the evidence of his deeds, as well as a burgeoning sense of shame. He toweled off and joined Mabel in their bedroom.

In the attic, Mabel had set up an array of snacks, two dented cans of beer, and her laptop. Evidently, it was impromptu movie night for the twins. 

Dipper shrugged into loose pajamas and slumped down next to Mabel on her bed. She rested her head on his shoulder as she chatted away about her day. Meanwhile, Dipper focused on trying to balance a snack bowl on either knee so that he could maintain a savory-sweet snack loop. He let Mabel pick the movie while he popped open the two cans of flat beer. They settled in under an afghan and watched the film- staring two male protagonists- unfold. 

Through out the movie, Dipper noticed Mabel trying to surreptitiously glance at him. He became increasingly weary as the two male characters grew steadily closer. When the film climaxed in an explosive reveal of one of the character’s homosexuality, Dipper choked a little on his beer. He must have had a more visceral reaction as well, because Mabel paused the film to look at him.

In the ensuing silence, Dipper refused to make eye contact with Mabel. She cleared her throat nervously.

“Well,” she started, referring to the film, “he’s having a ridiculous reaction to the other guy coming out.”

Dipper closed his eyes and mentally pleaded that Mabel would drop this train of thought. She didn’t.

“If someone I loved came out to me,” she continued, “literally nothing would change. Because it doesn’t even matter. Because there’s nothing- _nothing_ \- wrong with being gay.” Her voice was shaky but direct, and Dipper could tell she had rehearsed this.

He could feel Mabel creep up to him.

“It’s okay, Dip,” she whispered, and he could feel himself start to fall onto her. “There nothing wrong with you.” Dipper screwed his eyes shut, but tears squeezed out despite his best efforts. He turned and buried his head in her shoulder.

“You’re my brother,” she whispered, wrapping both arms around her twin. “You think I haven’t known for forever?”

Dipper shuddered as the need to sob racked his body. “I’m so fucking confused,” he rasped out.

“It’s okay, Dip,” she repeated. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” And in the quiet darkness of the attic, Dipper sobbed out years of repression and shame, secrecy and struggle and fears into his sister’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review guys!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my reviewers pointed out something pretty important- I said it was their seventh summer in GF, which would have made them 19. Dipper and Mabel are 17, so this is their fifth summer. I guess I don't basic math.

Later that week, Dipper was grunting and sweating, helping Soos and Grunkle Stan re-tile the roof of the Mystery Shack. Being a Monday, the stream of tourists had dried to a trickle, so Stan had put Mabel in charge of the gift shop while Dipper was reluctantly recruited to do hard manual labor. The brunette had been sticking close to her twin for the past few days, trying to rope Dipper into various arts-and-crafts shenanigans. Thus far, they’d pranked their grunkle five times in the past two days.

For their efforts, Stan had repaid them in kind with double shifts in the store, as well as forcing them into uncomfortable get-ups designed to stun gullible tourists. Yesterday, Mabel had been forced to attached goat hair to her chin (“Step right up, folks! See our own bearded lady!”), and the day before that Dipper was held down as Mabel took body paints to the entirety of Dipper’s torso, back, and arms (“Here we have our tattooed man, ladies and gents. Don’t get too close, he once killed a man with his big toe!”).

Dipper and Mabel had then pooled their collective tips from this venture and had convinced Soos to go into town and buy them a pack of cigarettes. Subsequently, the three of them lounged on the porch in the twilight and tried to form a smoking habit. It went like this:

“I don’t know, dudes. I mean, this stuff is pretty bad for you,” Soos informed them while holding up one cigarette for inspection.

Mabel took a whiff from the inside of the pack and tried to conceal a grimace.

“It’s doesn’t smell _that_ bad, kinda like raisins, I guess. Look, I don’t need to like them- I just need to be able to smoke one with that new lifeguard when he goes on break! It’s the perfect opportunity to get some one-on-one with him!” Mabel exclaimed. 

Dipper told the pack from Mabel and turn it over in his hands, examining the warnings. 

“Mabel, don’t you think that’s a little bit overkill?” He sighed while frowning. “I mean, if the guy likes you, he’s not gonna care if you smoke with him or not. Just go and talk to him- that’s what you always told me about dating.” Dipper trailed off. 

“Yeah, hambone. I think Dipper’s right.” Soos put his two cents in.

“Arrgh, you guys just don’t understand. Pacifica’s been moving in on him! She didn’t even know he existed before Grenda blurted out that I think he’s a total hunk! God, she’s the worst!” Mabel groaned out, angrily flicking a lighter on and off.

“...So, this is actually about Pacifica then?” Dipper teased. Mabel didn’t respond. “Mabel?” Dipper nudged his twin.

“Whatever,” Mabel huffed out in a tone of atypical defeat. She reached for the pack in Dipper’s hands. “Alright, let’s do this.”

The three of them lit up and took hesitant drags- and then promptly started choking. 

Soos’s eyes were tearing up with the force of his coughs- they rattled his not-insignificant body with quaking convulsions. 

“Dudes,” he choked out, “This was such a bad idea. I immediately regret this,” he got out between wheezes. Mabel and Dipper weren’t fairing much better. 

“Holy shit, it’s like my lungs are on fire!” Dipper cried.

“Wait, wait! It probably just takes practice,” Mabel reasoned after her coughing settled. The three of them got about a third of the way down their respective cigarettes before calling it quits.

“Well, this wasn’t fun at all,” Mabel announced, stomping out the embers with her boots. Soos’s face was still red from his bout of coughing. They dropped the butts into a rusty can of water that was collecting runoff from the roof.

“Don’t worry, hambone,” Soos reached around and patted Mabel’s shoulder. “We’ll think of something else- that pool hunk won’t know what hit him.” He finished confidently.

Mabel sighed. “Thanks, Soos.” A comfortable silence overcame the three for a long moment, interrupted only by the chirping of crickets and distant calls of owls. 

Now, Dipper struggled to pull a tile loose from the roof. He and Soos had a contest going for who could pull the most pieces by the end of the day. The two had long since abandoned their shirts and were sweating profusely under the intense summer sun. Grunkle Stan had kept his undershirt-probably in a futile attempt to keep his tattoo concealed- but wasn’t fairing much better.

Dipper leaned back, wiped the pooling sweat from his brow, and redoubled his efforts with the stuck tile. Niggling at the tile with the nail-removing end of hammer, he finally wiggled the piece loose. It came flying off and clattered down the roof, sliding to a stop at the gutterpipe. 

“Fifty nine!” He shouted triumphantly in Soos’s direction. 

“Nice, dude. I’m a sixty-two, dawg. Better catch up,” Soos replied, chuckling in a good-natured manner.

Grunkle Stan lumbered off the roof and into a nearby window. When he returned, he was cradling three sweating cans of beer in one arm. He tossed one to Soos, set one by himself, and handed the third to Dipper.

“Here ya go, kiddo. You’ve earned yourself one.” Stan rasped out. Dipper smiled at his grunkle.

Down in the clearing, the three of them could see a man approaching the shack. He was young, tanned, and wearing a lifeguard ensemble and fannypack. Dipper raised his eyebrows with interest as he took an icy swig from his can. This must be the lifeguard Mabel was on about. The brunet nodded to himself appreciatively- the man was pretty good-looking. From the roof, they watched the stranger enter into the gift shop.

Soos turned to Dipper with a wide, dopey smile. “I put Mystery Shack advertisements with Mabel’s face near the community pool!” He whispered conspiratorially. “But don’t tell no one, we didn’t pay to get permission for that.”

Grunkle Stan hmm’ed in blatant approval. “Nice work, Soos.” Stan turned to Dipper. “Kid, you gonna bring home a special lady sometime soon?”

Dipper’s stomach dropped into a free fall. His hands started sweating more than he thought possible and his throat dried up and tightened. He took a uneven sip from his beer while quickly shaking his head. He made a decision. His toes started going numb and his heart was in his ears.

“Not a lady,” he murmured into his can, simultaneously hoping Stan had and had not heard what he said.

Stan looked entirely unmoved. “Special guy then, whatever,” he groused out. Dipper shook his head again, feeling like the foundation had been taken out from under him.

“Hmmm. Later bloomer, just like me. It’s better that way, kid. Don’t wanna get settled down too early.” Stan gulped down the last of his beer, crushed the can, and chucked it at a squirrel that was scaling a nearby totem. He laughed heartily when the animal scampered away. Dipper, wide-eyed with beer-can frozen half-way to his lips, couldn’t process what had just happened. 

Stan stood up, hand on his hips, as he surveyed their process on the roof. The hottest parts of the afternoon were giving away to a gentle breeze that felt heavenly on Dipper’s disgustingly sweating back. 

“Get back to work, chumps. I’m gonna go scare off Mabel’s new beau. She should be working, not flirting.” Stan announced, leaving Soos and Dipper alone on the roof. Dipper, having just recovered from the shock of a perfect anti-climax, choked down the rest of his beverage. Had Soos heard what he had said to Stan? From the other side of the roof, he heard Soos laugh delightedly.

“Sixty-nine dude, I’m at sixty-nine,” he laughed harder at his own joke, and threw a moldy tile in the general direction of Dipper. The teen avoided it with ease and reached for his own hammer.

“Loser has to drink the cigarette water straight from can, man!” Dipper cheered and resumed his tile-pulling with gusto. 

“Oh my god, dude. I think I’d rather die,” Soos said, quite seriously. They worked into dusk, clearing the whole roof of its rotting wooden tiles until the asphalt felt was completely exposed. Resolving to install the new tiles in the morning, Soos and Dipper rejoined Mabel and Stan for dinner and poker.

~+~

 

Later that night, after falling into a restless sleep, Dipper was plagued with a slew of unsettling and erotic dreams. He dreamt of running. His throat was dry and sore with each icy inhale, and he told taste blood at the back of his mouth. His face was numb, his ears stung and his heart was pounding out of his chest. Each footfall forced an exhale as dark columns of trees flashed by him. 

There was something behind him- oh god what was it? He didn’t dare glance back, but instead tried to urge his screaming limbs to move just a little more swiftly. It didn’t work- he seemed to slow down instead, despite frenzied bursts of adrenaline. 

Claws sank into his shoulder and lurched him backwards. Hot panting gusted across the back of his neck, and he could feel the rumbling vibration of a deep animal growl reverberate through his chest. Hands ( _hands?_ ) pushed him down into the dirt, face down grinding his hips and crotch into the hard, unrelenting ground. Teeth fastened themselves at the back of his neck.

Dipper turned his head to one side to avoid having his nose smashed into the rocks. He struggled backwards against whatever was upon him to no avail. Around him, countless eyes were peering out from the brush and branches, all watching his struggle. He felt nipping at the side of his neck, wet bites made by knife-sharp teeth. His legs were kicked apart and knelt between, and god help him, a spike of arousal shot through his groin. The feel of something hot and hard nudging at his most private areas made Dipper instinctually lift his hips back to give more access. His entire body flushed with arousal and utter shame. The eyes kept watching. 

Bill’s voice echoed in his head and all around the small clearing of trees. Dipper could place where it was coming from. The demon whispered non-sensical bits into Dipper’s ears as he continued to be ground into the dirt. The teen clawed at the ground with bitten-down nails, trying to reach his climax despite the rough, scraping friction.

“Let me eat you up, sapling.” Bill crooned, hovering nearby in his classic triangular form. “I’ll take you and gobble you up and leave nothing left behind.” The demon’s eye was blood crimson and even his maniacal laugh couldn’t dampen Dipper’s building climax. He squeezed his eyes shut and gasped out breathlessly as he came, Bill watching every movement with keen eyes. The demon grinned with sharp teeth and lowered himself to the teen’s prone form.

“Until next time, Pine Tree” He sang out, reaching for Dipper’s head. Dipper frowned in confusion but couldn’t muster the energy to move. Bill flicked his forehead and all at once, the teen was flying back into the world of the awake. Dipper gasped awake in his bed, sticky with sweat and cum, face down in his pillows. He changed his boxers with shaking hands and curled back into bed after wiping himself off. He didn’t fall back asleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review guys!


	6. Chapter 6

Dipper half-heartedly chased the last bit of soggy cereal around his bowl of milk with a plastic fork. The dish washer had finally shuddered and died this morning, with an entire week’s worth of dirty dishes remaining uncleaned in it’s bowels. Thus, Mabel and Dipper were left with the mismatching plastic party utensils they’d dug out of one of the pen drawers. It was either that, or take-away chop sticks.

Mabel had wolfed down her breakfast and was now drawing milk portraits on the wood grain of the table, while intermittently checking her phone. She’d confided in Dipper that, while he, Stan, and Soos had been re-tiling the roof the previous day, the new lifeguard had come into the shop to chat her up. Apparently, they had arranged for date at the drive-in theatre this evening. Mabel was practically vibrating in her seat with barely-contained giddiness. 

Dipper, who had witnessed all of the Mabel’s previous dating habits, knew better than to invest interest in her new exploits. If the guy made it to a third date, then Dipper would reconsider meeting him. But, he had absolutely no intention of living in an ocean of awkward acquaintanceships with her ex’s in Gravity Falls. He lived enough of that back home.

Mabel’s phone released a shrill ping as a text was received. She grabbed at the device with gusto, thumbs flying furiously over the touch screen as she responded.

“We’re officially on!” Mabel squealed, pushing her cereal away so forcefully that milk leapt over the rim. 

“I’m calling Candy for outfit advice! I’m thinking old-Hollywood, since it’s the drive-in. Do you think Candy and I could make a boa? Or would that be over the top do you think?” Mabel chattered aloud, not entirely caring whether Dipper responded, or was even listening. 

Dipper hmm’d in a non-committed manner and scooped the remaining piece of cereal into his mouth. It was soggy and overly sweet, saturated with the crushed cereal bits from the bottom of the bag. He listened to Mabel scramble up the stairs as he pushed his own bowl away. He rubbed his hands over his face, then dropped to lean his forehead against the cool surface of the table.

In his mind, he could still hear Bill’s nasally drone and cooing whispers from the previous night’s dreams. Dipper groaned and tapped his forehead against the woodgrain, as if the physical act would shake those dream memories away. He clenched his jaw against a sense of hopeless, aimless anger. 

He wanted to plunge his fists into Bill’s perfect face again and again, to retaliate for plaguing him with such confusing, such appealing visions. The demon had violated his dreams, his private mental space where he kept all his nameless secrets under lock and key. Desires that Dipper never knew he had came percolating up to the surface as he agonized.

Rough. It had all been so primal- the creature holding him down, the faceless voyeurs intently observing, the smell of dirt and the press of cold underbrush against his cheek. In his previous journeys to the mind-scape, everything was typically muted and bleak, so impersonal and cloaked in shadows. But this dream had been so vivid, a lifelike assault on his senses- Dipper hadn’t known Bill could create a dreamscape like that.

Dipper bit his lip and pressed his legs together as he mulled over the violation. A sudden shock of icy horror passed through him as a thought occurred to him.

What if-

What if that dream hadn’t been Bill’s creation? Dipper inhaled sharply in through his nose, sitting up and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. His heart felt as though it was dropping into his stomach. 

What if this dream had been his, and his alone? The idea was repulsive to Dipper, and he pushed back from the table so with such momentum that his chair toppled behind him. Aggravated, he slung his backpack onto one shoulder, not bothering to change out of his pajamas, and stomped outside into the woods. 

~+~

A few evenings later, Wendy had surprised Dipper and Mabel at the gift shop, subsequently dragging them out to a jam session with Robbie’s band. The redhead, who neither Mabel nor Dipper had realized was in Gravity Falls, was back for the summer after a marine biology internship at her university had fallen through. With her classic brevity, she seemed entirely at ease with the situation, and fell back into her usual cycles within town. Mabel took the opportunity to arrange another date with her lifeguard, convincing Wendy to pick him up on their way to the venue.

The venue, as it turned out, was an old garage shed at Lee’s parent’s house in the boonies. They piled out of Wendy’s rattling sedan and into the garage, making themselves comfortable on the ratty furniture. Bare lightbulbs hung from fasteners on the ceilings, and the walls were smothered in tattered concert posters. Dipper worried briefly about the possibility of inhaling asbestos. Besides the four of them, a small number of strangers were standing about, smoking cheap cigarettes and drinking even cheaper beer. They all looked to be collage-aged, every one of them displaying an impressive collection of piercings and/or tattoos.

Dipper ended up crammed onto a beaten sofa, pressed snugly between Wendy and the armrest. He picked at a loose thread in the faded patterned upholstery, while Robbie and his band mates argued over which covers to perform. On the make-shift stage, which consisted of several two-by-fours propped on cinder blocks, a tangled web of cables dripped off of every corner. There were amps stacked on either side of the stage, and the front edge was littered with a line of pedals so long that the entire get up mimicked some sort of industrial church organ. 

Sequestered around the drum kit, Robbie, Nate, and Lee were deciding upon a line up. Robbie, guitar already strapped firmly around his torso, was gesticulating wildly with a pick between his thumb and index. Lee, one hand propping up his bass, sported a deep-set frown as he aggressively chewed his gum and interrupted Robbie at random intervals. Nate was slouched lazily behind his drum set, ignoring both his bandmates and focusing on perfecting his drumstick twirls. 

Next to Dipper, Wendy, pressed up warmly and smelling of earthy perfume, chatted with Tambry, who, despite her apathetic demeanor, had worked hard to get into a school of design and fashion in Portland. Tambry was lounging in a patterned silk dress, a black wide-brimmed hat, leather ankle boots, and obscenely large and opaque sunglasses, despite being in the dim garage. Wendy, in complete opposition, was wearing her iconic blue flannel with a hole in the armpit. Her jeans and sneakers were ratty from dirtbiking, face red from the sun, and hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, all the while never looking happier. 

The pair were so intensely engaged in conversation that Dipper didn’t bother trying to butt in and join. He glanced around the garage. Mabel and her lifeguard were squashed together on a chipping leather armchair on the far side of the room. Dipper watched as the guy leaned into his sister. Apparently, the guy must have made a funny comment, because Mabel tossed her head back and laughed, slapping at his arm. The handful of strangers scattered about the space clung to each other in exclusive clusters.

Dipper winced as a loose thread caught on a hangnail, and glanced down to find that he had picked the couch threads down to the fluff. WIth no one to talk to, he considered digging an old paperback out of his pack to pass the time. He was interrupted by the sounds of the amps crackling, to life, indicating the commencement of the show. Dipper spent the next hour or so being pounded by auditory assaults of overdriven, clippy guitar and furious drums. Sometime during the middle of show, Wendy had pressed a warm soda bottle into Dipper’s hand.

“Drink it!” She shouted delightedly over the music. Her chest was flushed and eyes alive, but relaxed. Dipper took a swig and almost immediately spat it out. He resisted the urge and, with watering eyes, choked down the burning soda in what he hoped was a manly fashion.

“Oh my god, no,” Dipper rasped out between coughs.

“Just a little whiskey, Dip! It’ll warm you up!” Wendy took back the bottle and took her own long swig. But she was right- Dipper could feel the whiskey-and-soda mix hitting his stomach and warming him with gentle coals. Intrigued, he reach out for the bottle again and took one more cautious pull before Wendy pulled it from his lips.

“Take it easy, tiger. Slow up.” She ruffled his hair affectionately and screwed the top back on. 

By the time the encore was wrapping up, Dipper felt mighty loose and agreeable. As soon as the amps had been unplugged, someone dragged out cardboard boxes of 24 packs. As Robbie and Lee were putting their instruments away, Nate popped away from his drums and jumped down from the stage to get in on the action, wiping sweat from his brow and clavicles. Dipper’s eyes followed those movements appreciatively. 

Sometime later, after an hour-or-so of awkward mingling with strangers, Dipper found himself standing outside the garage shed with Robbie and Nate. The summer night was warm, sounding of crickets, occasional owls, and the soft rustle of a breeze through the bushes. From outside, the music inside the garage was reduced to fuzzy beats and muffled vocals. A loose string of white christmas lights was strung along the top edge of garage shed, illuminating the boys with soft, ember-like light. Above them, the night was clear and speckled with stars, no moon.

The two older boys each grasped the neck of a craft beer bottle in one hand, a lit cigarette dangling from the fingers of the other. Dipper sipped on a can of cheap ale, and tried not to grimace everytime smoke wafted into his face.

Crushing the glowing butt of his cigarette into the side of the shed, Robbie turned to Dipper with the expression of an older sibling about to create hell for his younger one. Dipper had known this would come.

“Aight, Dip. You’re what- seventeen now? You must have gotten in with the ladies by now, yeah? Shit, remember how you used to drool after Wendy?” Robbie cackled at the memory, snorting ungracefully into the mouth of his beer.

Dipper, who had long since recovered from his pre-pubescent infatuation with the red-head, was completely unfazed by the comment. Probably also because Robbie brought it up every summer without fail. The brunet made of show of sighing.

“Yes, Robbie. We all remember that. How could any of us forget? You literally bring this up every summer.” Dipper punctuated his exasperation with a long draw from his can.

“That was goddamn adorable,” Nate chimed in, smiling warmly at the teen. Nate’s eyes were clear, full of amusement, and his jaw darkened with stubble. The effect was enough to make Dipper force back a blush and throw his energy into relaxing into a coy and unaffected posture. For his efforts, Robbie snickered yet again and ruffled Dipper’s hair aggressively.

“So, you gotta girl, Dip? You done the nasty yet?” Robbie pressed onwards, unrelenting. Dipper, too buzzed to decide upon the manner in which he wanted to respond, settled for a simple shake of his head.

“Naw.” Dipper forced out casually. Robbie’s eyebrows lifted in apparent surprise.

“Really? A looker like you,” Robbie reached forward to grasp Dipper’s jaw gently. He pressed Dipper’s cheeks together in one hard and turned the brunet’s head towards Nate. “Look at this, Nate. Kid’s got some goddamn lucky sleeper genes right here. You seriously haven’t gotten laid yet, pretty boy?” Robbie snorted in amusement and released Dipper’s face.

Nate was gazing at Dipper with a fond, curious expression, and Dipper could only hold eye contact for a second before glancing away.

“Lay off the kid, man,” Nate chuckled as he drained the rest of his bottle. Robbie huffed in bored annoyance.

“Whatever,” he sighed. “I’m going to find Tambry. Fuck, did you guys see her in that silk dress? Shee-it,” Robbie hoisted open the creaky door, letting a wall of sound erupt out into the open, and stumbled back into the shed. Once the silence had settled again, Nate turned back to Dipper, cheshire grin forming.

“Wanna re-do the lights to look like a dick?” He asked excitedly. Dipper matched his smile and set down his beer to look for a step-ladder. 

Several minutes later, Dipper was perched, tip-toed, on the top step of a rusty step-stool. Nate spotted the brunet with both hands on his waist, both boys laughing breathlessly, teetering drunkenly to and fro. Finally, Dipper hammered the last nail into place, looping the wire of the christmas lights around it to keep the phallic form static.

“Beautiful. Absolutely stunning work,” Nate laughed out, his breath hitting between Dipper’s shoulder blades. The brunet leaned back into Nate’s grip in order to admire his handiwork. 

“Well, the shaft’s a little wobbly, and the ball-sack is definitely asymmetrical, but it’ll do,” Dipper voiced his observation before he could register the ridiculousness of those words. Nate barked out a delighted laugh in response.

Without warning, the door of the shed busted open, pushing the step-ladder away from the wall and sending Dipper toppling onto the grass.

“What the fuck!” Dipper cried out with Nate’s simultaneous “Jesus Christ, what are you doing?”

Framed in the doorway was Mabel’s lifeguard boytoy, Mabel herself peeking around from behind him. Immediately, the guy crouched to help Dipper up, apologizing profusely. 

“Sorry, Dip!” Mabel chirped. “We were looking for you- didn’t know where you had gone! Ready to go soon?”

Dipper grumbled but acquiesced. 

A half-hour later, after Wendy had taken the time to sober up, they re-piled themselves into her car. On their way out, Dipper had glanced around the garage to see Robbie and Tambry embracing in a dark corner of the room, and Nate making out with a pretty blonde girl against one of the stereos. 

The ride home was contentedly quite, backed by the soft murmurings of late-night radio. When Wendy slowed the vehicle to drop Mabel’s lifeguard off, Mabel slid out as well.

“I’m staying at his place tonight, okay Dip?” Mabel yawned, smiled, and waved goodbye as she shut the car door. From behind the window, Dipper gave her a nod and a salute to let her know he’d be fine on his own.

Dipper crept back into the mystery shack just as 1am rolled around. As he stumbled tiredly into the dark attic, he was met with a dark figure resting on his bed, legs crossed, arms behind it’s head. The brunet immediately froze with mounting panic, then deflated and groaned when Bill’s voice cut through the darkness. 

“Greetings, sapling.”

The dream demon lifted one arm lazily and snap his fingers, the lightbulbs in every lamp around the attic illuminating simultaneously.

“Seriously? No.” Dipper bit out. Then: “Did you fuck with my dream?”

BIll tilted his head, expression unreadable. “Which one?” He asked, teasingly.

Dipper briefly considered the consequences of describing his nightmare. On the off chance that Bill hadn’t puppeteered the entire thing, Dipper decided to save himself ensuing humiliation- not to mention how unbelievably vulnerable imparting that information would leave him.

“Nevermind.” The teen sighed. The intense anger he’d felt the morning after the dream had now dwindled to defeat. 

“You know,” Bill began after several seconds, “I really wish you’d reconsider your perspective. It really is going to be much more difficult to neutralize our little problem without the utilization of your certain.. asset,” the demon drawled out, picking dirt out from under his fingernails and not once looking over at Dipper.

Dipper frowned at Bill’s elegant form and handsome face, lounging as casually as ever across the faded comforter. The teen was exhausted. He thought about Mabel and her current flavor-of-the-week. He thought about Robbie and Tambry in the shadows of the garage, and Nate’s long eyelashes, eyes closed as he embraced a nameless girl with frenzied passion. Would it really be that bad? Bill seemed to sense the cracks in Dipper’s resolve, and pierced the teen with an intent gaze until Dipper finally succumbed.

“Alright,” Dipper croaked out. “Alright. I’ll do it. But not tonight. I need- I need a little time,” the brunet swallowed around his words.

A too-wide smile spilt the demon’s face, displaying more teeth than humanly possible. His eyes were wide with obvious delight.

“Wonderful!” He hissed out. As Bill departed the realm, all the lights in the room extinguished at once, leaving Dipper standing alone in the attic on a moonless night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review/constructively criticize!

**Author's Note:**

> Please review- constructive criticism is the ultimate motivator!


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